Jazz is the only genre that can wander off, forget what room it’s in, circle back with a bruise and a blessing, and somehow land on the exact note your heart needs.

There’s always a next time.

Take that win.
Some days the world tilts hard, but that thought’s heavier than it looks, and worth more than you think.

I’m not sure that’s a thing.

Wild how a muse can haunt you and still hand you the light to write by.
Some spirits live in the margins, shaping every line without ever knowing they’re the pulse behind it.
Ink remembers what the heart won’t say out loud.

Classic trap. One polite gesture and suddenly you’re head of Door Operations. Next time, just whisper ‘shift change’ and walk away.

Let the universe handle the paperwork.

Good plan.
Music resets the room, and flowers remind your brain the world still knows how to bloom.
Be gentle with yourself today—some days just need a softer soundtrack.

Here’s help on your next one:

VERSE 1:
Yeah, I laugh when I say it,
but truth creeps into my rhyme—
every line’s a little warning
wrapped in glitter to get by.
If my heart had better weather,
I’d write brighter skies instead…
but storms keep sending verses,
so I sing what’s in my head.

Cray-cray

Feel a split running through me—
The bright side trying to dance,
the shadow part pacing in the dark,
in search for a corner to disappear in.
Some days, joy hibernates,
leaving a gloom to run the room.
So I hang tinsel on the ache
and call it tradition.

Amen.

Bless the crumbs that guide us,
the sugar that steadies our souls,
and the quiet holiness of a warm mince pie at dawn.
May our mornings rise flaky,
our spirits stay sweet,
and our faith never outgrow breakfast.

I mean… yeah. Pressure makes diamonds, and hard times make bangers. It’s just music physics. The worse the world gets, the more essential that one perfect song becomes to keep it stitched together.

Hold my beer.

I don’t believe you.

Call it ‘human nature’ if you want,
but a system built on smoke will always make folks cough.
Don’t blame the lungs for the poison—
blame the room we’re trapped in.
People aren’t born selfish…
they’re just trying to breathe.